I never wanted to be writer,
but you no longer craved
my deepest affections,
so I melted them down
into black ink and pressed
them against an inviting
skin of paper.

you are the planet
man will never set foot on

imagine, no newspapers & no tv
just red dust blowing  in the acid breeze

you will gaze at the sun
& ask it how far away it is

& your moon will whisper
you lullabies

hush listen,
what is that?

the sound of a star
exploding

a mysterious heart
ceasing to beat

There is a storm in my teacup
the one you've heard referred
to so often before

the neighbors want to know
what all the noise is
coming from behind my door

the lightning is fighting
with the thunder, the waves
of Earl grey crashing

on the  fine china shores
There is a storm in my teacup
I don't know what to do anymore

some say it started
with the white lies my friend told
or with me crying that I'm getting old

the tea rose up in
indignation
the sugar screamed as it fell in

this is what I want to tell the nation:
there is a storm in my teacup.
Oh well.

Oh well.